


joke me something awful

by naughtyskeletonpuns (badskeletonpuns)



Series: perhaps, perhaps, perhaps [2]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/naughtyskeletonpuns
Summary: Friends with benefits, take two. Sammy and Ben are a little bit better at being friends now, but they're still bad at actually talking about their feelings. After all, why would you talk about feelings and relationship boundaries when you could be making out?





	joke me something awful

**Author's Note:**

> joke me something awful just like kisses//on the necks of "best friends"

It wasn't supposed to happen again.

Hell, it wasn’t even supposed to happen the first time. 

This is the way the story was meant to go: Sammy and Ben hook up once; they forget about it. Ben flirts with Emily, the town’s new librarian, and Sammy pokes fun from the shadows. Ben and Emily get married and have a gaggle of theater-loving, librarian children. Sammy vanishes into the forest to become the local Bigfoot legend. 

And yet here they are. 

The sun has just set, casting the two of them in blue-gray shadow. They’re lying on a picnic blanket on the roof of the station, sharing the dregs of a bottle of Martinelli’s someone had gifted to the show. The sparkling cider isn’t the least bit alcoholic, but it fizzes and sparks on Sammy’s tongue like it’s every bit as intoxicating as champagne.

Ben takes the bottle when Sammy offers it, lifting the glass to his mouth and swallowing in one smooth motion. His throat bobs with the movement, drawing Sammy’s eye to the freckles dappled along his skin. 

He can’t get the way Ben had looked in his lap out of his mind. How flushed he’d been, the way his mouth had hung open slightly… 

“Buddy, you’re staring.” 

Ben nudges Sammy with the end of the Martinelli’s bottle. The glass is cold against his bare upper arm, and he can’t hold back a shiver. 

“I know I’m irresistible,” Ben teases, “but come on, Sammy, keep it in your pants.” 

“Bold words from the man who was making bedroom eyes at me for the last half hour of the show.”

Ben sputters, rolling over to shove Sammy. “I—Fuck you, I was not! No!” 

Sammy lets Ben push him, more than willing to collapse onto his back with Ben solid and hot against his side. Ben takes another swig from the bottle; a few drops escape his lips down his cheek and throat languidly. 

This is the moment, Sammy will decide later, that is the last instant in which they could have stopped. He decides that for himself because he has to, because the alternative would be admitting that there was no way he could have done the right thing when Ben was looking at him like that. There was no instant in which he could have stopped, not with Ben egging him on at every opportunity. 

“C’mere.” Sammy takes the Martinelli’s from Ben and sets it to one side. With his hands free and Ben in no danger of spilling cider all over the two of them, it’s almost too easy for Sammy to pull at Ben’s belt loops to move him closer. Ben needs no further encouragement to swing one leg over Sammy’s waist.

“Can’t resist the Ben Arnold charm, huh?” Ben’s face as he speaks is far too smug. In lieu of a comeback, Sammy shakes his head and pulls Ben down into a dirty kiss.

Almost immediately, Ben gets his hands into Sammy’s hair, winding it around his fingers and undoing Sammy’s messy bun. Sammy breaks away long enough to raise an eyebrow at Ben and get out, “Do you think the only reason I put my hair up is for you to take it down?” 

Ben grins at him—fuck, his lips are already redder than usual. “Are you saying that’s not true?” He tugs Sammy’s head back and leans in to kiss Sammy’s exposed throat. Between the electric pleasure-pain of Ben’s hands tight in his hair and the sweet heat of Ben’s mouth on his skin, Sammy really can’t argue. 

“How are you so good at thi- _ hhh _ -is?” Sammy pants. The last few words break off into something too close to a moan as Ben bites down on the tender skin just under his jaw. “Shit—Ben, you’re gonna leave a mark!” 

Sammy still doesn’t know what the two of them are, and he’d be willing to bet a hell of a lot that Ben doesn’t know either. ‘No marks’ is definitely the sound, rational decision here, though. 

The pop of Ben’s mouth unsealing from Sammy’s skin and the expression on his face—somewhere between the pout of a glutton deprived of dessert, and the guilt of a thief caught red-handed… Those are extremely convincing points in favor of the neither rational nor sound decision of yanking Ben back down to keep nipping at Sammy’s throat. 

“Sorry, I should have asked!” 

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” Sammy rushes to clarify. He can’t help but lift his hand to touch the spot where Ben’s mouth had been, still damp and hot. “Just—we have work tomorrow. People could, you know. See.”

“And seeing is… not great,” Ben suggests. He bites his lips, a blush still splashed across his face and neck, but all hint of smugness gone. 

Sammy shrugs, unwilling to commit to a yes or no answer. All he can think is that he’d give anything to get Ben’s teeth back on him. But he’s pretty sure that the moment Miss Potter gives Ben any attention, Ben will be less than overjoyed to have his friend and co-host littered in hickeys courtesy of Ben. There’s no way Sammy’s voicing that particular desirealoud, so he compromises. 

“How about no marks where anyone can see?”

Ben nods, but he’s still worrying at his lower lip and won’t look Sammy in the eye. It’s been a while since Sammy had to lead this particular dance of stolen kisses and secret benefits, and he can’t say it’s gotten any easier with age. 

“Hey,” Sammy prompts. He runs his thumb over Ben’s lip, gentle as he knows how to be. “It’s okay, Ben, I know it’s easy to get carried away.” 

He wracks his brain for something to reassure Ben he wants this, preferably without revealing just  _ how _ desperately he wants it. How much Sammy wants anything Ben will give him, friendship and sex and desire, anything and everything in between. What had Ben said last time? “It’s just stress relieving, right?” 

Sammy wants to wince as soon as the words leave his mouth. He sounds like every asshole frat bro Sammy met in college, perfectly willing to hook up with guys as long as they didn’t have to (God forbid)  _ date _ one of the freaks. 

It seems to work, though, because Ben looks back up at him with a hint of a smile playing at his face. “Really stressful day, huh, Sammy? Gift basket with Martinelli’s and a discussion on the local ciders too much for you?” 

Sammy nods and sets all memories of his past aside. It’s easier that way; without the ghosts of not-even-exes bitter in the back of his throat, he can put both hands on Ben’s hips and draw him closer. “Oh, absolutely. You have no idea how much I was wounded by those words.” 

Ben waggles his eyebrows and presses his forehead against Sammy’s. “Want me to kiss it better?” 

“Ben!” Sammy bursts out laughing, tucking his face against Ben’s neck and wrapping his arms loosely around him. They’re both shaking with the force of it as Ben erupts in laughter as well, wheezing and snickering in each other’s arms. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. I should leave right now.” 

“But…” Ben rolls his hips slightly, just enough to drag their cocks together. Even through the denim of both of their jeans, Sammy can feel it, and he shivers. 

“Don’t make me say it.” 

“Come on, Sammy,” Ben teases. “Just ask nicely.” He slips his hands just under the hem of Sammy’s t-shirt, barely brushing the skin beneath.

Goosebumps run along Sammy’s hips under Ben’s fingertips. It takes more self control than he’d like to admit to stop himself from trying to rut up against Ben. There’s a reckless sort of joy in the way Ben touches him, a lack of fear Sammy doesn’t think he’s ever had himself. 

“Sammy,” prompts Ben. He settles his hands firmly on Sammy’s waist under his shirt. His fingers are so cold, but that’s not why Sammy shivers again at their grasp. “I’m not gonna kiss you till you say it.” 

Jack-in-the-Box Jesus, Ben’s eyes are dark as the sky above them. Sammy can’t look away, can’t do anything but keep his arms around Ben and keep their eyes locked as he responds. “Please,” he acquiesces. “Kiss it better.” And then, daring: “Come on, Benny.” 

Sammy doesn’t dare call Ben  _ Benny _ outside of moments like this, but he knows that Ben likes it. It’s obvious in the breath Ben sucks in, in the way Ben blushes all the way down to his collarbone and yanks Sammy forward to crush their lips together. 

It almost hurts, and it’s so damn perfect. 

“Off,” Ben mumbles against Sammy’s mouth, tugging at the hem of Sammy’s shirt. 

“Pushy, pushy.” Sammy has to break their kiss to comply, but the loss of that connection is almost worth it for the way Ben stares when Sammy gets his shirt off. Even if Sammy does have to shove down the voice in his head that whispers that the look on Ben’s face is all shock and no awe, that Sammy’s older and out of shape and there’s no way someone like Ben wants him.

So he doesn’t shove it down that well. It doesn’t matter, there’ll be time for self-loathing after orgasms. Sammy reaches out, runs his hand down the buttons of Ben’s shirt. “You gonna stay all buttoned up?” 

“Fuck no,” Ben breathes. He’s unafraid in his want, fumbling with the buttons as he tries to undo them too quickly. 

“Don’t forget to breathe.” 

Without looking up, Ben flips him off and Sammy just laughs and bats Ben’s hands away from his shirt. “Here, let me help.” Sammy can feel the quick in and out of Ben’s breath as he works on the buttons, and he slows his own movements to press the flat of his palms to Ben’s chest. “Seriously, I wasn’t kidding about the breathing thing.” 

Ben snorts; he makes little to no effort to calm himself down. “Excuse me for being enthusiastic.” 

“I’m just looking out for you, Benny.” Sammy leans back so he can look up at Ben, fluttering his eyelashes all ridiculous faux-seduction. 

At that, Ben kisses him again, heedless of Sammy’s hands still tangled in his shirt. Everything is a fumble of lips and limbs and Ben, until finally Sammy sits up and helps Ben wriggle out of his shirt. 

Sammy wastes no time in shifting his focus from Ben’s mouth to his chest, because he didn’t get to have half the time he wanted to take Ben apart last time they did this. All theories about Ben being both loud and clingy as fuck are immediately validated when Sammy closes his mouth around Ben’s nipple. 

Ben fucking keens, and he clenches his hands into Sammy’s hair with enough abrupt strength that it stings. Sammy shifts his mouth to another spot on Ben’s chest and bites down a little harder, hard enough that the hickey is gonna take at least a few hours to fade. 

No marks where anyone could see didn’t mean no marks at all, right? 

Besides, from the sound of it, Ben definitely doesn’t mind. 

Sammy pulls away, just far enough to blow a thin stream of air over the still-wet bite mark. Ben’s panting still, each ragged breath edging into a moan. He licks over Ben’s nipple again and Ben is melting into him, grinding down with abandon. 

“Can I touch you?” Sammy murmurs, ghosting one hand over the waistband of Ben’s pants. 

“What the fuck have you been doing before now?!” 

_ Oh, Ben, you ain’t seen nothing yet,  _ Sammy thinks. He smirks at Ben and rubs the pad of his thumb over Ben’s other nipple. Ben nearly folds in half, wheezing into the crook of Sammy’s neck and shoulders. 

“Sorry, I’ll clarify.” Sammy lets both hands drop to Ben’s belt buckle. “Can I touch your penis?” 

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” Ben sighs. 

“Flattering, but unhelpful.” 

“Yes, Sammy! Jack-in-the-Box Jesus, yes.” 

Ben’s pants and underwear come off with the usual fumble of removing unwanted clothes. Before Sammy knows it, he’s got a lapful of an extremely naked Ben Arnold. 

And then he palms Ben’s cock, and Ben is whining into Sammy’s ear—needy, shameless little sounds—and fucking forward into Sammy’s fist.

“I don’t even need to do any work, do I?” Sammy speaks before he can convince himself not to. He’s so close to Ben that his mouth brushes Ben’s cheekbones whenever he talks. “You’re so desperate, you’re just gonna ride my hands to the finish line, huh?” 

He thinks Ben is nodding, but isn’t sure if it’s that or Ben’s insistent rocking motions that are making Ben’s head bob up and down. 

Sammy’s hands are slick and messy with the way Ben’s dripping precum already. “I can’t believe you’re so wet … No, actually, I can.” He knows Ben’s watching him when he slips one hand away from Ben’s dick and brings it up, mainly because Ben lets out a ridiculously distressed little moan at the loss of contact. 

All signs of distress vanish when Sammy takes two of his fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks around them and keeping his eyes on Ben as he licks his fingers clean. 

Ben groans, his voice hoarse by now, and comes all over Sammy and himself. His whole body relaxes, slumping over against Sammy. He’s still twitching his hips forward, even as his cock softens, like he can’t bear to stop yet. 

Between that friction and the way Ben’s whining, barely audible, it doesn’t take much for Sammy to finish off as well. 

He’s quieter than Ben, but there’s no way Ben misses the way he tenses up and then slackens, all at once.  _ Real subtle, Stevens. Coming in your pants is the best way to hide how fucking desperate you are to fuck your co-host.  _

Sammy is brought out of his self-deprecating spiral by Ben shoving him, the motion so half-hearted that it ends with Ben just resting his hand on Sammy’s chest. “I wanted to help,” he protests. 

“I promise, you helped enough.” It hurts to see Ben like this, with his eyes half-lidded and cheeks tinted mauve as the morning sky. Something so soft, so immeasurably tender, shouldn’t hurt so sharply, and yet… Sammy shakes his head. Resolves to forget the image of Ben grinning at him with lazy, sated delight. “Come on, we gotta get cleaned up.” 

Maybe Sammy is a little more brusque than he needs to be when he shifts Ben off his lap, but he doesn’t have to look at Ben to toss his clothes back at him. So he doesn’t know if Ben takes it in stride and gets dressed, or if he keeps  _ looking _ at Sammy like Sammy can solve anything in this fucking town, especially the two of them and their issues. 

“I’ve gotta get home and change,” Sammy blurts out, and escapes through the fire escape door back into the station before Ben can object. Or not object. Whatever Ben would have said, Sammy couldn’t afford to give him the chance. 

There are some chances Sammy can’t risk taking. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to teyla for the beta!!!! and another thanks to the samben rowboat (are we large enough to be a sailboat yet? the inflatable dingy?) for all of the cheerleading. :D :D if you liked it, kudos/comment? or hmu on tumblr @wendy-comet, where i am always taking prompts. (i may take a while to fill them, but i promise i am taking them.)


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